


Two-Dollar Love

by July



Series: Gun in Their Face, the Cash in Their Hand [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, F/M, Humanstuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-21
Updated: 2012-08-10
Packaged: 2017-11-10 09:45:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/464909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/July/pseuds/July
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Magic and Eights are two of the most infamous and terrifying criminals in the Southwest. This is their rise to power, and eventually, their downfall. EriVris as a sort of modern-day Bonnie and Clyde. As blackrom as human relationships get. Warning for violence and just general unlawful activity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pull a U

**Author's Note:**

> Titles are all songs/lyrics by the Kills.

They were notoriously untouchable.

The desert dust billowed behind the car as it screamed down the highway. The driver was slouched in the front seat, his wrist resting lazily on the steering wheel. He drove twenty miles over the speed limit, but he effortlessly kept his casual demeanor as the barren landscape whizzed past under the endless blue sky. The roof was down on the baby blue 1967 Mustang, the blasting wind cool in the blistering desert heat. A bend was approaching in the road and he slowed down considerably, both hands on the wheel to make the turn. He resumed speeding when the road became dead straight once again. Glancing over to his right, he saw the one next to him looking down at her hands, her dark brown hair whipping behind her. She felt his glance and a smile began to play on her lips. She threw her head back, face turned to the sun and her face split into a grin.

“You spoil me sometimes, you know,” she said loudly over the rush of wind.

The driver returned her smile, looking at her from behind his sunglasses. His jet-black hair wasn’t resistant to the wind, being blown out of its carefully styled shape. He was clad in a plain white T-shirt and black jeans covered in beige dust. Rings adorned his fingers, many of them decorated with violet gems, the odd one containing a retractable spike or a secret compartment for a pill. He wore plain black boots, a knife holster concealed under the leg of his pants.

“What Eights wants, Eights gets,” he replied warmly and she laughed. Her arm rested on the door of the car, a cigarette in her hand, which she occasionally brought to her blue-painted lips. The odd colour was a signature of hers, and one that could be instantly recognized in many states. There were many who wore a navy smudge on their lips, but most of them could never tell of it. All but one who had shared her lipstick in a kiss was alive. Her skin was well tanned and she wore an orange sundress, the front sporting tiny flecks of dried blood that blended in with the tiny patterned flowers. He could see them.

To anyone, the pair was simply known as “Crazy Eights” and “Black Magic”. They transcended real names, though they had picked up a number of other nicknames affectionately given by various police forces that had failed to catch them. But whatever names they went by, there was no mistaking their handiwork. Finding a dead man in a ditch with a trace of blue on his lips only meant one thing. It was a warning signal. It made police hesitant when they arrived to the scene of the crime and they saw the haunting smudge of lipstick. Either the duo was incredibly skilled or incredibly lucky to constantly elude the law.

Eights took one last inhale on her cigarette and let it leave her fingers. “Can we keep this one, Magic? Pretty please?”

He smirked. “What, the car? Wouldn’t it be so easy to track down something stolen from a vintage car show?”

She pouted playfully and then snickered. “Whatever, let’s just get this to Yellowbelly and take his piece of shit car to the border already. I’ve had enough of Nevada. Arizona is even more boring.”

Magic licked his lips and they fell silent. The road was still dead straight for some time, and he didn’t slow down. Still with one hand on the wheel, he reached over to place his right hand on Eights’ knee. Her shoulders shifted and she seemed to relax more, her hand meeting his. Their fingers lacing together, she slid his hand further up her leg so it rested on her thigh. He didn’t react, but she could see a slight blush appear on his cheeks and her insides did a summersault. She loved little things like that, but she was usually secretly heartbroken whenever he would brush them off and act tough. He made that a bad habit with her, though she supposed he never really had that choice in life. And neither of them ever had that choice in their line of work.

There was sudden drop in the road as they went downhill just as a cop car appeared over the hill going the opposite direction. It whizzed past, but the sirens started almost immediately after. Magic cursed as he watched the car pull a u-turn in the middle of the road and began following them. He eased to a stop towards the bottom of the hill, the wailing of the sirens stopping after he hit the breaks. Eights’ eyes were fixed on the horizon, the fleeting moments of joy gone. She knew what was likely going to happen. If they were lucky, they would be left alone, since almost the entire NHP knew well enough to fear them. She was preparing for the worst, however, in those silent minutes waiting for the cop to emerge from his car, stalk over to the car with the usual arrogant, entitled gait and give them a ticket. Magic’s hand was no longer on her leg and was instead gripped on the steering wheel anxiously.

“License and registration, you have any idea how fast you were going?”

Magic turns his head to look the officer up and down. He’s young, probably a rookie on his first solo patrol, with light blonde hair and aviator sunglasses. He stood up straight, doing everything to assert his authority. Magic simply smiles at him, an attempt at charm.

“Surely we can work somethin’ out, officer,” he said smoothly, but the cop wasn’t fazed.

“Sure, license and registration first.”

Eights parted her lips and let out a small sigh, hoping to draw attention to herself. It wouldn’t end badly if he could just recognize her goddamn lips.

“Listen, Officer,” Magic starts, glancing at the cop’s name badge, “Strider. This really isn’t worth your trouble.”

“Do I have to repeat myself?” His posture stiffened, and he puffed out his chest further. Magic looks away, muttering a small agreement and bent down as if to dig around the floor of the car for his ID. He waited for the loud bang and heavy thud above him before he sat up. Eights held the gun extended out in front of her, sunglasses off, her eyes staring intensely at the spot Officer Strider once stood. He could hear her breathing in the silence of the open landscape. Without a word they opened the doors and gathered by the crumpled body next to the car. Strider’s glasses were knocked off his face, his eyes wide in shock, hands over his head where he attempted to shield himself from Eights’ bullet.

“I hate when that happens,” she muttered, bending over to grab the dead man’s arms. Magic took him by the legs and they carried him over to the car. They opened the door, placing him inside, head leaning back on the seat as if he were taking an afternoon nap. Eights wiped the blood from his mouth and planted a firm kiss on his lips, leaving a dark blue smear. They had enough time to get far away before anyone realized the cop was dead.

“You okay?” Magic asked her as they made their way back to the stolen car.

“What? Oh, yeah, I’m fine.” Suddenly she grinned, jogging over to the truck of the car. “You think it woke up our delivery?” She held out her hand for the keys, grabbing them in mid-toss, thrusting it into the keyhole. Opening the trunk, their delivery was very much awake, eyes wide and darting around as he struggled in his binds. Eights snorts in irritation, her shock from moments ago worn off, and she crossed her arms.

“Really? How many fucking times do I have to say we’re not going to hurt you?”

“Well, _we_ aren’t,” Magic adds.

“Last thing I fucking want is for this to get out of control.” Eights slammed the trunk shut, locking it again, giving the keys over to her partner. She hopped into the passenger’s seat, pulling his arm around her shoulders as she leaned into his chest. “I really don’t want that, Madgie.” Her voice weakens as he starts the car. “One of these days, something is going to go horribly wrong because the wrong person gets killed and I’m going to end up putting you through a wood chipper.”

He laughed lowly. The car approached a cruising speed and the cop car eventually disappeared behind them in the mirrors. “We’ll stay out of Minnesota, then. Just remember we’re not amateurs at this at all.” He gripped Eights’ shoulder, holding her closer to him. “But why the hell does Sol want some kid from LA with a mohawk, anyway?”

“I don’t question it anymore. He pays well enough, I’ll do whatever he needs done.” Eights reaches for the dial on the radio, turning up the music to signal the end of the conversation. Magic refrained from driving over the speed limit, his arm not leaving Eight’s shoulders as they cruised down Route 93 for Arizona.


	2. Cat Claw

They never exchanged first names.

It was close to sunset, and the car was parked between two pickup trucks outside the roadside inn. The place was tiny, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it kind of building made of ancient-looking wooden planks. This was where they were told to meet their client, a devilishly clever drug dealer nicknamed Yellowbelly. They had known each other for a long time, doing business with each other since they had gotten into the business of illicit affairs. He was an easily misjudged fellow, his nickname being entirely ironic. He didn’t look intimidating in the slightest being tall and wiry with messy hair, buckteeth and a thick lisp. Even with the dark sunglasses he often wore, he would never frighten anyone by simply being looked at. He rarely revealed his eyes, one glazed over nearly completely white with blindness, the other almost as dark as night, but they were enough to unsettle anyone. When they walk into the front lobby of the inn, there’s a small bar at the front with a few tables scattered about. Yellowbelly, or Sollux, is hunched over, forearms resting of the counter, fiddling with an empty shot glass. As soon as Magic and Eights walk into the room, he stands up straight, smirk on his face. Magic twirls the keys around his finger and tosses them to the bartender.

“Just like you wanted,” Magic said with a hint of relief.

“Thank you sir and madam,” Yellowbelly replied, pocketing the keys. “In the trunk, I presume?”

“Just like you wanted, as we said,” Eights snarled playfully and sat down on one of the bar stools. The bar was empty, the only sound being the radio behind the bar softly playing something that sounded like bluegrass.

“I know it’s not my place to ask,” Magic said, joining her as Yellowbelly pours them both glasses of bourbon. “But what did you need some kid for? Usually you ask us to kidnap someone less... innocent.”

Yellowbelly’s eyes met Magic’s, unhidden by his dark glasses. It was enough to make him shudder. “No, it’s not your place. I give you the money, you do the job, is that not enough?” The lisp almost seemed comical, but his tone was anything but threatening. Magic stopped talking and gratefully accepted the drink.

“Come on, Sollux,” Eights teased. “He was real pain in the ass. Wouldn’t stop squirming.” Sollux glared at her. Even though they relied on each other for business transactions, Yellowbelly could not personally stand the pair for more than five minutes, and already his patience was wearing thin. He sighed, giving in.

“He just hasn’t paid up in like... Four months now. He was selling dope in his school to make money for college. Bless his heart, but...” Yellowbelly shrugged and reached under the bar, pulling out a clipboard.

“Booked full?” Eights asked, downing her glass in one gulp.

“Funny. Doesn’t matter ‘cause I’m not coming back for another week. Cat Claw and Centaur are holing up here until then.” He went through the list, checking off a room number and turned around to the key rack behind him. He removed one, handing it to Eights. “Yours for the night, I’m sure you’re tired. Help yourself to the bar, and don’t let anyone else in. As promised, that gold key opens the safe for your payment. Until next time.” Yellowbelly left the keys to his truck on the counter in front of them, and gave a two-finger salute as he grabbed his coat, heading for the door. After he left, the pair was silent. Suddenly, two bodies burst through the back room and into the bar. If partners were supposed to work together, they had to think alike, and would often look alike as well. The two newcomers did not look a thing in common.

Cat Claw and Centaur had always been a team, and a favourite of the old gang, when it had existed. Cat Claw, whose name was Nepeta, was a tiny young woman with short hair and an athletic figure. She was a bubbly being, and always seemed to keep a friendly disposition, despite being the go-to person in the country for murder. She was an assassin, pure and simple, never bothering to concern herself with the world of drug dealing or protection schemes. Like Eights, she had a signature to mark her work. Her weapon of choice had always been a set of three specially made steel “claws”. They were long, razor-sharp blades made retractable in a leather glove. They could kill effortlessly, leaving distinctive three wounds on the victim. Nobody could ever place why she was always in such a good mood, however. There were many theories whispered among companions, ranging from her being simply sociopathic to using a happy demeanor as a way to cope with the guilt of ending so many people’s lives. Her partner, on the other hand, was a hulking brute of a man, but was uncharacteristically soft-spoken most of the time. He looked like her goonish henchman, but possessed a knowledge of technology unmatched by anyone else. Rumors had always flown about them, as many partners ended up having a relationship. Eights would crack jokes with Justice (her own distant cousin Terezi) about how strange, or possibly amazing, sex between them would be. They were two more people who didn’t particularly care for the duo known as Black Magic and Crazy Eights, but there was a mutual respect.

Respect was always something required in running a successful gang, and a lack of respect was what took it down. The Scratch used to reign all over the country, putting down every other gang in existence. There were thousands of members and affiliates scattered all over the nation. Eights had always known of the gang, the kids at school being associated with them, their stories capturing her attention. She had a tendency to eavesdrop. The Scratch was a peculiar name for a gang, she figured, but nevertheless, the name was known everywhere. She had tried to join for a long time before she was ever let in. Eights was the youngest member ever initiated into the group at the tender age of seventeen. She ran away from home and dropped out of school as soon as she was accepted. After three years of trying to get in with the gang, she was finally in, and assigned to a partner, the experienced, yet slightly obnoxious Black Magic. She was given the name Crazy Eights due to the 8-ball belt buckle she always wore. Black Magic had been into the occult when he first joined. She was seventeen, and he was twenty-one, the youngest companionless member in the state. He had previously worked with a sweet young Southern Belle named Angel Fish, but they “had complications”, or so he said.

They had never given each other their real names. Eights seemed to want to forget hers, and never spoke about her past to Magic or anyone else. He respected that, and never bothered to tell her his real name, either. They had discussed it, but eventually decided that their relationship couldn’t handle knowing such information. Eights said it would only get them too attached to each other, though apparently claiming she loved him wasn’t. To each other, they really were Eights and Magic. Their relationship wasn’t an easy one at first. They were very different, and Eights always loved competition and often riled Magic up for no reason, only to end up breathless and tangled up between the sheets. Their violent passion brought them together and held them there, and eventually they learned to love one another.

The years passed, and eventually the gang was forcefully disbanded. The authorities were tired of letting the violent crimes of The Scratch go unwatched. Nobody innocent was ever harmed, but one chief of the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department didn’t see it as such. Karkat Vantas, a stern, angry little man was tired of the gang politics in his city. Vegas was the first city The Scratch had really “owned” in terms of drug trade and extortion. Casino owners were the puppets of gang members, dealers and pimps alike. The thugs around there were getting too relaxed, thinking they were above police interference. No force would ever dare to even attempt to touch them. They let themselves go, doing too much blow, watching strippers for a little too long before cops came bursting into every joint on The Strip. It wasn’t hard for Chief Vantas’ crew to arrest over a hundred offenders. After one city was shut down, other cities got interested. It didn’t take long for the rest of the gang factions to start respecting the law again, but eventually more arrests came and the rest of the gang was finished, the members disappearing or getting arrested. They just sort of faded away, but not every member was gone.

In the Southwest, there were only six left that Magic and Eights knew of. Angel Fish had returned to her previous life of having a real job, but Justice still popped up here and there. Cat Claw and Centaur were still in business, renting out their services to whoever needed them. Yellowbelly had never been a part of the gang, only an affiliate, and still did business with the old members. The sixth was, surprisingly, Karkat Vantas after he lost everything. Eights herself had planted a false rumor that The Scratch was operating once again inside The Luxor. The police swarmed the casino, only to find the rumors were false, but an old woman was shit and killed upon the beginning of the raid. Vantas was shamed by the media, and was forced to resign. A month later, he showed up in Sollux’s inn and the rest was history.

There was no way The Scratch would ever be back on its feet, but Magic and Eights were still working, unable to leave their lives of crime. They themselves had never been caught, always managing to escape a bust. Eights’ signature kiss was still recognized and seen as gang politics, and not something the police wanted to get involved in. The respect had been restored, and things continued to be the same ever since.

“Mm, how’d you guys make out?” Cat Claw asked as she plopped down into one of the chairs at the table. “You were getting someone for Sollux?” Getting someone. As if they had simply escorted the gagged and bound young man to Yellowbelly.

“Yeah, we did. Put up a fuckin’ fight that one,” Magic answered. His eyelids were heavy. “Nothin’ I couldn’t handle.”

Eights rolled her eyes. “He elbowed you in the stomach and you nearly keeled over. A skinny teenager – it was pathetic.”

He scoffed as Cat Claw giggled into her hands. “He was bony. He had... sharp elbows.” The excuses, oh, how they amused her.

Centaur had been silent the entire time, barely cracking a smile. Sweat was beading around his forehead just from the dry heat inside. “Where you of to next?” he mumbled, though it was obvious he wasn’t asking out of curiosity.

“Cancun,” Magic answered. “Have a bit of a vacation. Not even Kar has anything for us these days.”

“Ooh, we should go on vacation,” Cat Claw says to Centaur, her eyes filled with a childish fascination. He only brushes her off with a laugh.

“This is our vacation,” he says, deep voice rumbling. “Here. Stuck in this place for a week.”

Cat scrunched her nose up as if she had tasted something bitter. “Something always comes up eventually,” she added solemnly. “But we’re just here until Sollux gets back. After that...?” She cocked her head to the side, and Eights thought to herself just how disgustingly adorable the little killer was.

“Well, it has been a long fucking day,” Eights groaned, leaning back in her chair, crossing her arms behind her head. “Cop got in the way. That didn’t last.” For some reasoning, bringing it up made her stomach flip-flop. She frowned to herself, glancing at Magic scowling at her. “I’m turning in.” She got up from the chair, giving Cat Claw and Centaur a nod, Magic catching up to her. He clasped her hand in his and she felt her heart rising, unable to suppress a smile. She squeezed back, beginning to feel better as he was there.


	3. Baby Says

They weren’t the gentle type. 

Down the hall of rooms, they were the last door on the right. The room was like any motel room, a simple double bed, end tables and a dresser. Eights stepped out of her worn boots and sits down on the end of the bed. The golden light of the sunset shone through the half-drawn blinds. Pulling off her socks with her toes, Eights lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. She felt tense, like her muscles were flexed and unable to relax. She rubbed her eyes with her palms, feeling the mattress depress beside her.

“Long fucking day,” she repeated herself, voice trailing off as a whisper. Her eyes met his and her face became flushed. “I’m not tired,” she said flatly. She knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep, her mind whirring as it was. Her fingers trace up to the sides of his face, and she brings them closer, their lips meeting for only a second. His eyes were heavy, the usually bright blue now deep with desire.

“You know what I need?” she mumbled and he replied with another kiss. Eights stopped him for a moment. “I need you to stop this goddamn dark and mysterious bullshit because it’s boring and you’re being pathetic.”

He didn’t reply, his expression blank, and she knew he was just doing it to bother her. Her eyes narrowed into a glare as she brought a hand down on the side of his face just a little too hard. “Fuck you,” she growled, sitting up to the sound of a sharp crack in her back.

“What? Hey!” Magic’s voice was a high-pitched protest. “I am not doin’ this act to impress you or anythin’!” He leapt up clumsily from the bed, catching her shoulders from behind. Eights shrugged them off and spun around. Her mouth split into a grin as he looked purely annoyed.

“You honestly think it’s always some fuckin’ act?” Oh, that was different, she thought. There was real anger in his voice. “I’m sorry I can’t be Mister Sensitive all the time, but it keeps us safe. Think if I ran my big mouth like I do around you around some fuckin’ thugs who want their money, things would end up well?” He was absolutely fuming and it was enough to make Eights throw her arms around him and kiss him roughly. He kissed back with all the passion and anger he had just displayed, pulling her in by the waist, hands reaching down to grab onto her ass. She nearly squeaked when his surprisingly strong arms lifted her up, her legs crossing behind his back. Their mouths grabbed desperately for each other as Magic staggered forwards towards the wall, slamming Eights’ back against it with a dull thud. She yelped from the impact at first but continued to kiss him. Her legs still felt cramped wrapped tightly around his waist, but his fingers grasping her soft skin was enough to allow the first signs of arousal to flood through her. She moaned in approval, pressing her back into the wall to grind her hips against him just slightly. Suddenly she fought against his grip, her feet touching the floor, pushing him backwards onto the bed. She was on all fours on top of him, her long hair curtaining their faces.

“No, I get it,” she said. “Don’t think for a second I don’t appreciate it. What I need from you right now–“ her fingers clutched his shirt, attempted to claw his chest – “is to stop acting tough and be a fucking man who knows how to treat his woman.” Her words send a wave of animal instinct over him as Magic flips them over, forcing himself between her legs and furiously sucking her neck. Eights squealed with joy, throwing her head back with a laugh to expose her throat. The pleasant pain of his bites made her quake with anticipation. She held him closer with her legs, fingers running over his scalp, gripping his hair.

“Fuck, unzip me,” she spat out of frustration. Her orange dress was then shucked on the floor, Magic kissing the cleft between her breasts. The straps of her bra hung around her shoulders and she arched her back to let him unclasp the garment. He looked over her hungrily, his eyes looking spaced out and even somewhat feral. Before he can make another move, Eights cocks an eyebrow, daring him to undress. He sat up straight, and pulled the T-shirt over his head, her hands running up his legs. He catches them and places them on his chest as he lay back down on top of her, their mouths meeting. He wasn’t buff by any means, but the sight of his defined muscles was enough to make her chest tighten. She felt his grin on her mouth. Fuck. She kissed back harder, tugging at his hair. His erection was pressing against her thigh as he moved to spread her thighs apart further. A hand was between her legs, a single finger stroking up the cloth of her underwear. Eights couldn’t hold back her loud gasp, her legs jerking involuntarily as bright flashes seemed to appear before her eyes.

“Is that good for you?” Magic asked snidely, teasing her again.

“Fuck. You. That’s not fair,” she snapped through gritted teeth. Her voice wasn’t as biting as she wanted, and her pride began to betray her as her bottom lip was pushed forward in a pout.

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

“Hey!” She gave him a small shove away from her, though her body ached for him. She still had some dignity. “Remember what I said before?”

He rolls his eyes, and Eights’ expression changed to surprise having never seen such cocky defiance. “Yeah, right, it’s what baby says, she gets. If you want me to drop this act you think I’m puttin’ on, quit pullin’ this virgin shit.”

Her jaw drops in shock and her only reaction is to slap him across the face. She scrambled up, shoving him off her and onto his back. Pinning him down with her legs, her eyes spark with sexually charged anger. “Okay. Fine. Well, then I’m not going to just let you.” Her fingers sharply unzipped his fly and pulled off his belt. Her head dipped down as she pulls down his briefs and Magic nearly yelps.

“What the fuck are you–“

“The fuck do you think?” and she fell silent. He closed his eyes and let out a long groan. Fucking hell, what had he done? The pleasure surged through him, her inexperienced mouth alarmingly hot. It didn’t last long before she was up to his level again, giving him a long, passionate kiss. Her mouth was in a devilish grin as she pulled off her underwear, straddling his hips once again. He entered her, bucking his hips once as she settled on her knees. Eights was focused, the familiar feeling being different now that she was on top. She would just have to feel her way through it, gently riding him as his hands rested on his hips. She quickly picked up the pace, her hot breath escaping her parted lips. She didn’t look down at her lover’s face as the dull throb of her pleasure pounded through her, creeping up her back and stomach, the cramped feelings from before washing away. Fingers dug into her hips and she rode even faster, her movements becoming more exaggerated, yet more natural.

“Fuck,” was all she managed to force out, feeling the word was profound enough for what was going through her mind. She dared a glance down at Magic whose expression was screwed up in what looked like pain. He was holding back, and if he let go without her, he would never hear the end of it. One hand unlatched itself from her hip to touch her at her centre. The direct contact made her whimper, moving her hips against his fingers. She rode it out for a few more moments, her jaw going slack when she felt the initial pang of her climax. She was always soundless when she came, her voice trapped inside her as if the physical sensation flashed before her eyes, blinding her. She was still being stimulated as it started to come down slowly and gradually. Her legs quivered and she seemed to burst, then felt the release of her partner below her. It slowed to an immediate stop, the pair both panting nearly in unison. Her legs became jelly and she collapsed on top of him, their heated chests joining. Neither said a word as she rolled off to the side, one arm across Magic’s chest. The last of the golden sunlight peered through the blinds. She kissed his neck gently, mumbling that she loved him. He didn’t reply; he didn’t need to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you un-capitalize their nicknames and use them as nouns, this may be the funniest thing I have ever written.


	4. Murdermile

They never stood a chance.

There was never a ruder awakening than the sound of nearby gunfire. Their bodies bolted upright immediately when the first shots had been fired, adrenaline pumping through their veins. This had happened enough times for them to know to sleep with their clothes on. Eights pulled her boots on without thinking, ripping open the drawer to pull out her gun. She didn't even look over at Magic who was following the same routine. The door burst open and they raised their weapons, the man in the doorway raising his hands in defense.

"Whoa, hey, it's okay! You're okay!" Karkat shouted and they lowered their guns. With the threat of danger gone, Magic sighed heavily.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, Kar," he snarled, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "You do not fuckin' fire off your weapon as a good morning and burst into someone's room at sunrise." He pinched the bridge of his nose, no doubt the sudden reaction giving him a headache.

The shorter man only scoffed. "For your information, it is five thirty in the goddamn morning, consider this a wake up call."

"What? What's going on?" Eights says, exasperated.

Karkat raised his hands once again, telling them to calm down. "I only got here last night, and I need to speak with you before I leave."

Both their expressions were baffled. "So you..." Magic said, narrowing his eyes. "So you just fire your fuckin' weapon off? Didn't think how that would affect anyone else in this buildin', what, bein' criminals and all? You know gunfire in the mornin' only means one thing to us."

He looked honestly puzzled but then rolled his eyes, shaking his shaggy mop of hair. "Fuck it. False alarm, okay? Hallway target practice, that's what it was. Go shower, you both look fucking awful." He walked out the door, heavy boots clunking on the floorboards.

"Are you high?" Magic called after Karkat, sticking his head out the door frame. "Have you been hanging around Sol for too long? I know he's got good shit, Kar, but fuckin' Christ!"

"Just do us a favour and keep it down this time," he called back. "I came in here last night and I swear you two go at it like you're raising the fucking dead or something ridiculous!"

Eights cringed, her face flushing a deep red as she slammed the door. Karkat was still screaming, but they didn't hear him. Eights sighed, brushing back her oily, windswept hair. "Do I really look so bad?"

Magic didn't answer, but he nodded towards the small bathroom attached to their bedroom. She grinned and followed after him. Their clothes were cast aside once again as they kissed under the running water, their crimes being temporarily cleaned away. The ten minutes of hot water was nice as they washed each other, hands sliding delicately over skin with the spare bar of soap from the sink counter. It was about as romantic as they could get those days.

The problem with being on jobs like theirs was that they could barely pack anything but the clothes on their backs. Eights slipped back into her sundress reluctantly as Magic promised her they would find a place to buy new clothes. Cat Claw and Centaur were still in the front hall, conversing with Karkat as they emerged from their room. Magic went for the safe as Eights took a seat next to the other woman, glaring at Karkat.

"Did you seriously think it was a good idea to do that? We thought it was a fucking police raid."

Karkat laughed, drinking from his styrofoam cup of coffee. "Why? You haven't done anything big in a long time. Just that kid from LA, but who would be able to find you out here already?"

The colour drains from Eights' face and she looked away. I peaked Karkat's interest.

"Oh, so there is something," he said, his voice losing his angry edge. "What'd you do? Rob a bank?"

Eights scoffed. "Yeah right, like we would pull that off and just be hanging out here." She hesitated before answering his question, her voice small. "Killed a highway cop who pulled us over." Magic's hands were on her shoulders, a duffle bag full of their cash over his shoulder, Sollux's car keys in his hand. Karkat let out a low whistle.

"Do I know him? Or, well, he was highway patrol, probably not."

"Uh... Strider, that was his name."

There was a sudden shift in the air as Karkat's face went blank and ashen. Eights stared at him, searching his face, feeling the panic bubble up inside her. Did he know this Strider? Were they friends? Had she just killed a good friend of his? She felt sick.

"Get out," he mumbled. Cat Claw was staring at the former police chief, gripping her partner's hand underneath the table.

"What?" Magic breathed, his grip tightening on Eights' shoulders.

"Just go, get the fuck out of here." His voice was rising as he stood up, visibly shaking. "Get to Mexico, get as far away from here as you can and just keep fucking going."

The panic had filled her up as she bolted upright, staring at Karkat. "What the hell-"

"It's not you, it's his brother." Karkat rushed behind the bar, grabbing the set of his own keys. "I knew Dave, he was really annoying. But now you're going to deal with his older brother, because he's going to know his little bro is dead, and he will not be happy. So for the love of god, just go."

Words were useless as the front window of the motel shattered. Time slowed down as gunfire filled the room. By instinct, Eights flipped up the table, hitting the floor behind it. Her pistol was white-hot against her thigh as she grabbed for it. Magic was next to her, his face cut by shards of flying glass. His eyes were focused on his gun, slipping in new ammo and cocking the weapon. He was up in a blur, arms extended, returning fire, his gaze not breaking from the direction of the attackers.

Eights bit back her panic as she joined Magic at the top of the table, firing back, trying to see the figures in front of her. The shadow of a man fell to the ground, but she wasn't sure who hit him. It didn't matter as the adrenaline coursed through her. The only thing clear to her was the hulking figure above her. As she looked up, she felt the strike of warm metal across her face and she fell. One more loud bang. And then nothing.

It seemed as though ages had passed before she was looking up at those around her, Magic leaning against the wall, limp but definitely breathing. His face was streaked with blood and tears as his hands wiped at his eyes. He was cut badly, but it didn't compare to the others around him. Slumped beside him was Karkat, the tell-tale pool of blood around him signalling his demise. She could barely breathe as her eyes met Magic's. He was dead. He was just shooting both his gun and his mouth off minutes ago and he was dead. His gun was in his hand cold, not being fired even once.

"No," Eights gasped, her eyes refusing to well up from shock. She crawled over to Magic, the pain in her face throbbing, though she didn't care. She could only see out of her right eye. "Please no." His arms were around her as she watched Cat Claw and Centaur in the same position. Cat's face was splattered with blood, her tears running clean lines down her cheeks. Eights stood up, shaking as she supported herself on the knocked over furniture. There were four other bodies on the floor of the bar, one with striking blonde hair. He must have been the other Strider brother. The room was oddly silent, the desert air blowing through the vacant space. Suddenly a noise, a clicking noise at first notice. A shadowy figure appeared in the front window, stepping through the glass, cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

"Sol? What the fuck?"

Yellowbelly walked slowly into the room, his face looking bruised and swollen in places.

"Glad they didn't give you any trouble," he said weakly. "I'm so sorry. They had Aradia."

"Karkat's dead."

A pained sigh, but Sollux didn't move from his spot. "There's more of them coming. I suggest we split up." He sniffled once, turning away. The others wept silently as they gathered outside the old motel, staring at the smashed-up front. Sollux was quickly dousing the place in gasoline, giving their friend a proper funeral. Eights felt nothing but numbness as she watched the place go up in flames. Even with Magic holding her close, she felt nothing as the last remains of their friend burned away, or as Sollux said his last words.

They sped off in Sollux's old car on the road to Mexico, a word never being exchanged between them for the longest time. At least an hour of silence pierced by the static sound of the fading radio signal had passed by before anything was said. As they stopped at a roadside gas station, Eights stopped Magic before he got out to fill up the tank.

"Hey, you know, I think it's time I learned your name."

He blinked and nodded knowingly. "Likewise."


	5. Goodnight Bad Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter of this short fic. I'll be working on the much longer sequel (or rather prequel) soon enough!

They always hated living in the past.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yeah.”

“Absolutely? We can’t go back after this.”

“I know, just say it already.”

He sighed, eyes not leaving the road ahead of him as the Arizona landscape whizzed past them. “My name is Eridan Ampora, I’m twenty-four years old, and I’m from Canvey Island.”

She nodded in response, trying to dig out an insult for his name, but there was nothing. Instead she found herself whispering the name over and over to herself as she stared out the window. “My name is Vriska Serket, I’m twenty years old and I’m from Carson City.”

Eridan nodded, taking a deep breath, concentrating on the name, tasting it on his tongue before saying. “Vriska, Vris... I think it suits you.”

Vriska snorted from beside him. “Please, I told you the day I met you, I never wanted to be reminded of my old life again.”

“Yeah, but,” he started, but shook his head, becoming silent.

“But what?” He had an idea on his mind, but he was visibly blushing. Curious. “We’ve been through enough, you can tell me whatever idiotic thoughts you’re cooking up.”

“I don’t know. I thought after Mexico we might come back.”

“Come back and what?” Vriska glared and gave him a light punch in the arm. “Fucking spit it out.”

“I don’t know! I thought we might... settle down? See, that’s stupid.” His entire face was flushed red now, but Vriska’s lips were quirked into a smile. She was no longer sporting the blue lipstick.

“Aw, that’s adorable. You want to get all cute and domestic? Buy a house, I’ll spit out three kids, we get a minivan, a dog, matching argyle sweater vests, the whole lot?” The exaggeration repulsed both of them.

“I said settle down, not move to a midwestern suburb for fuck’s sakes.”

A grin spread across Vriska’s face and she turned her gaze out the window. “I take it by settle down, you mean take Sollux’s cash and we blow it all in Vegas for a week?”

“Naturally. Though speaking of Vegas...”

She was expecting something else, but suddenly her heart lurched in her chest, eyes going wide. She felt her limbs go stiff as she turned her head, looking directly at him. “You’re not suggesting?”

“I am suggesting.”

There was a long pause between them and Eridan felt the regret sinking into his stomach for even bringing it up. There was no way he could have taken back his statement with a joke or a, “just kidding”. He had just out of the blue proposed fucking marriage to her, a Las Vegas wedding at that. Despite the revelation of her real name, she was still Crazy Eights, unpredictable and deadly. She wasn’t one for such an institution such as marriage. The way she was completely still, sitting up straight and staring ahead with glazed-over eyes made his stomach turn. He was surprised she wasn’t kicking him out of the car that instant, leaving him at the side of the road on his own. Instead he saw something else on her face. A tear had rolled down to her chin before she wiped it away.

“We both escaped our boring, shitty lives,” she mumbled huskily, trying to hide the waver in her voice. “And you want to just stop everything we’ve worked for?”

His eyes were burning at the sight of her burst of emotion. “Well, we don’t have to stop. We’ve got Sol and Aradia to work with, and god knows he’ll only stop dealing when he’s dead.” The remark was meant to be a joke, but he felt a lump in his throat rather than a chuckle. “I just meant we should take it easy. Not so much of this motel hoppin’ every night and bein’ on the run all the time. We’ll rent a place out with this payment for a few months and just live like normal people. Just for a bit.”

Vriska’s expression was unreadable. “The reason I got into this life was to get away from that normal life. There’s nothing for us there. Honestly, I’d give you a week before you got bored and mugged some poor sod in an alley.”

Eridan snorted and rolled his eyes. Like he would ever do something so sloppy and primitive. “Maybe you’re right. This is stupid.”

“You can say that again. But I’m sure there are plenty of opportunities in Sin City if you are looking to stop running.” She reached over to bring Eridan’s head closer to her, giving him a peck on the cheek. “I will stay with you, if you really want that. But you’re really making it seem like you want to get domestic. I won’t do that. Mandalay Bay has that aquarium thing you like. I hear cocaine is a trendy drug among rich people.”

Eridan considered it, extending an arm out for Vriska to cuddle next to him. He held her close, eyes straight ahead, but his mind elsewhere. He wanted nothing more at that point to feel safe, if only for one night. But he knew the woman under his arm would never want that. Everything she did was dangerous, and every single moment of her life was a risk. While she was shaken by extremes, it was in her to survive and to never surrender to mediocrity when confronted by death. She could never live a passionless existence.

Vriska breathed deeply, taking in Eridan’s scent. Underneath the stale smell of his unwashed shirt, there were notes of his own skin she knew so well. She really loved him, and she could never see herself being with anyone else. It would never be right for her to be without him. He was her partner in crime, and if he needed a break, she would let him have it. Maybe she could adapt to it, but she was sure she would be scamming people out of their money, getting into drug dealing or card counting operations in the city before long. She knew it wouldn’t be forever, and if they were quiet for too long, they would be getting the unexpected visit from Sollux where he would be ranting and raving about them disappearing one minute, offering them their latest fortune the next. And she thought about how he had essentially sold them out to Strider’s older brother, all because they had kidnapped his own partner. Would she ever do that for Eridan?

She shifted her shoulders against his body, sighing as she mentally smacked herself for preparing her next words. “This is me saying yes to your earlier question, by the way.” Eridan smiled, kissing the top of her head. The border was only about fifty miles away as the sun crept below the horizon, the first stars of the brilliant night sky beginning to peak through the golden light. Vriska closed her eyes, feeling sleep overtake her as she listened only to the soft thumps of Eridan’s heartbeat, and for once, she felt entirely safe, and didn’t regret a second of it.


End file.
